Give God your best. This is perhaps one of the slogans of the church. But do you know that Jesus Christ also died for your worst? For your failures, for your unmet needs, for your pain, for the lies that you've believed so long that they have become your identity. 

"But he [Jesus Christ] was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed." – Isaiah 53:5

Jesus suffered so that we would have peace and healing. He served the sentence that our sin merits. 

Just imagine that you were a convicted, hardened criminal. You were sentenced to the death penalty. But instead of dying, an innocent citizen who had do no wrong offers to die in your place. You try to say "no," but he insists, saying that he loves you and wants to give you a second chance to live. You can't refuse. 

With the wonders of plastic surgery, you change places. He is made to look exactly like you, and everyone thinks he is the guilty one. That he has committed heinous crimes. His life is misery, and then he dies while you go free to live a new life. 

Everything goes alright for a little while. You can't quite believe that you have liberty, and you have a new zeal for life. Then you are overwhelmed by how bad you are, and you start destroying yourself. You mortify your body and even start contacting executioners. You wonder how hard it would be to build a guillotine in your backyard. Suffering is what you deserve, you tell yourself.

Can you imagine how the person who died in your place would feel, watching you suffer unnecessarily? It would be like a slap in the face for what he had done for you. He died so that you wouldn't have to. He suffered, so that you could start fresh. Justice had already been satisfied. You can't take back what he did for you.

I don't know about you, but I am really good at living in guilt, thinking I need to hold onto my worst. In fact, sometimes, I don't want to even acknowledge pain and suffering in my life. It is easier to minimize or ignore it. But in doing so, I am negating Jesus Christ's act of love on the cross. I am withholding the joy he deserves. The reward he earned by suffering in my place. And I am missing out on the peace and healing that he offers. 

Will you believe that God wants you to bring out your worst? To hand it over instead of being crushed under the weight. We'll never be able to give God our best if we won't first let him take our worst. 

"I quit." 

Those of you who know me well know that those words don't often come out of my mouth together. Achievement fuels me. My goals are always before me. I tend to believe that with enough hard work, anything can be accomplished. Once I attain a goal, I am running full speed ahead to the next goal.

In some ways, I am never satisfied. There is always a better way, always room for improvement. It is never finished. 

"It is finished." These were Jesus last words before he would die and days later be resurrected. What was finished? In brief, everything Jesus needed to accomplish on our behalf – enduring the agony of our sin and the resulting absence of God's presence, so we would never have to again. 

However, many Christians (myself included) tend to live as if Jesus forgot to dot a few "i"s and cross a few "t"s. In all of our efforts to look good and have everything together spiritually, our lives are negating Jesus' finished work. In effect, we become the object of our own faith. 

What does this have to do with embracing and being embraced by Jesus Christ (where I left you at the end of Part I)? Everything. 

When I was a little girl, the moment my dad walked in the door from work, I was lined up at the end of the entryway ready to run and leap into his arms. I never worried about whether he would catch me or not. I know my daddy was strong enough to hold me and the few joyful moments I would spend in his arms would reassure me of my father's love for me.

When we embrace someone, we are also being embraced. And since we know that God is much grander than we are, this embrace is more about being taken up in His arms and resting in Him. 

Most parents say that their love for their children is immediate. They don't wait for their infants to prove themselves worthy of being loved. They love their children because they belong to them. 

In the same way, I (and all who have been claimed as God's children) can rest in our identity in Jesus Christ, the one who has finished what we could not. 

So I quit. No more striving. Anything I am doing to prove myself is worthless and, actually, quite disgusting. Because of who I am in Christ and what he has finished on my behalf, I am free to just be. 

Consequently, I am practicing the presence of God and transformationally his love releases me to let go of striving. My most recent release was marathon training. I have run one marathon, and I learned so much about perseverance and dependence on God for strength. I wanted to run a second marathon, but one day in the midst of a run, I couldn't go on anymore (granted it was over 90 degrees out). I prayed a half-surrendered prayer, telling God he could stop me if he wanted to (but really, I didn't want him to). 

I kept running, thinking I was ok but knowing I wasn't. Deep down, in spite of all my spiritualizing of the race, my real motivation ended in pride.  I already have a finisher's medal. There is nothing left to prove. 

Once I was convicted that I probably shouldn't keep going (a month later), God took it away. My medical certificate was rejected for not saying "marathon in competition" (mine only said "marathon") and not having the stamp of my doctor (doctors in the States don't have stamps). 

Now my goal is to run the race of faith, running toward my savior Jesus who loves me, who has accomplished everything that matters. 

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." – Hebrews 12:1b-3

Part III will focus on practicing the presence of Christ and what it means to enter His rest. Until then, I urge you to give up and get going toward Jesus. 

Imagine that every song in church is a bad translation from Chinese in an Eastern style that you don't know how to sing. The songs use metaphors about rice and chopsticks and the Great Wall of China. 

It's not that you haven't accepted the Gospel – you have, but it seems that if you want to worship God, you have to give up everything you know from your culture and follow the lead of foreigners. 

Although this is just a hypothetical example, the reality is that many well-intentioned missionaries over the years have imported religion from their home cultures. This is most evident in the use of translated songs in churches across the world. 

I remember being in a Lutheran church in Colombia, where an entire hymnal had been translated from English to Spanish. The people sang while accompanied by a piano, but it felt like someone had just superimposed Spanish subtitles on an American worship service. Was the Gospel being preached? Yes. Did the hymns speak truth? Yes. Did the congregants identify with the music they were singing? Not so much. 

Compare this to an Ecuadorian church I visited where all the songs were written by Latin American artists in a latin style with their instruments. This church was vibrant and full. The congregants sang loudly and weren't afraid to move a little bit. The lyrics spoke to the heart of the Ecuadorian people.

I attended a music workshop in the Normandy region of France last month which addressed these same issues. We discussed how translated music usually either loses something in translation or loses musicality in preserving the original message.

We made a list of styles of music. Out of about 50 styles, three are being used in our churches. We considered issues that the French face and thematic gaps in worship. 

During the second half of the workshop, we chose a style, theme and issue and wrote a song. Pictured left are the lyrics to the Christian reggae song that we wrote. 

The song addresses searching for meaning in the midst of hardship. The chorus asks questions. The lyrics are quite poetic and philosophical. We chose not to mention Jesus until the very last verse, so that a non-believer would identify and listen to the song. We did our best to avoid "Christianese" – or words used commonly among in Christian circles – that can often make those on the outside feel excluded. The finished product felt very French.

This fall, our team will be partnering with French and European church planters to see a new church planted in a neighborhood untouched by the Gospel. I am challenged by this conference to seek out French music by French artists to be used in worship – and if there are gaps, to work with French nationals to create songs that the people will sing.

The whirring of tires and pedals. Jerseys of many colors. A cheering crowd. Cameras. Cries. Concluded. All in about a minute.

When I heard that the seventh stage of the 100th Tour de France would be passing less than an hour from Toulouse, I decided it was time to cross this off my bucket list. A few friends and I made covoiturage (carpool) reservations and set out on a "less-than-a-day" trip to Albi.

The various stages (21 to be exact) make the Tour unique. The infamous yellow jersey is worn by the overall time leader. The green jersey belongs to the rider with the most points. The red polka-dotted jersey goes to the best climber. The white jersey goes to the rider age 25 or under with the best time. There is also a combativity award and team classification given after each state. 

Each stage starts and finishes in a different city. Roads are transformed into a race course complete with cameras, VIP areas, concessions, souvenirs and the like. A couple hours before the riders finish, a caravan passes. The caravan is much like a parade, with floats, candy, hats and excitement.

While all the spectators are having a party, the cyclists are pedaling hard with only their fellow competitors for company. Then in the last few kilometers, they are greeted by the rumbling and screaming of fans (this is a short video of the last of the leaders and the American flag – we ended up behind an overly enthusiastic American).

All this work for a moment of glory. To wake up each day to start the next stage with the same routine. It reminds me a bit of the pace of life. Thirteen years of school to walk across a stage in a room full of people to receive a high school diploma. Four or five more years to walk across another stage for another degree. Years of dating before a wedding day. Nine months waiting to hold a baby. And the list goes on. 

We compete for the rare moments of glory – the times when we get the promotion, have the best car, win the race, but for what gain? The writer of Ecclesiastes writes, "All is vanity.What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?" 

I doubt that Chris Froome, the winner of this year's tour, will wear his yellow jersey forever. One day his prize money will run out. One day he might not even be able to pedal a bike. Then what?

I find it necessary to see a more extensive picture – one where not every camera angle focuses on me, one where my successes matter, not just for me, but for my neighbor as well. One where my failures can be redeemed for the greater good. For me, I find this in my Christian faith. This doesn't mean that I don't compete, but the only prize that matters, salvation, is already won and is offered freely.

For those of you who made it to the end of this post, you will be rewarded. I have one last video to share (this one is not so serious). Just so you know that the tour really does take place in France, here a video of the baguette mascot. Yes, a man in a giant baguette suit handing out pieces of bread, baguettes and hats. Pretty amazing, right? Did I mention that the temperature broke 90 degrees (F)?

Our theme of our RAPP retreat was, "Do you have the courage?" Generally, we think of soldiers, mountain climbers, firefighters and revolutionary leaders as courageous, but what about us?

Throughout the weekend, we considered courage from a worldly and faith-based standpoint. One of the videos we watched was about a 20-something who climbs mountains for a living. He scales steep sheets of ice and wonders constantly if his next move might be his last. He's shared a rope with many friends who have been at the wrong place at the wrong time and fallen. Now he climbs alone. He knows what he does is dangerous, but he can't stop. The summits have defined his identity, and he has given up everything to reach them. He wonders if anyone would love him if he left his solitary life and tried to find community. 

Fear can drive us to be courageous. Love can also drive out fear, making us courageous. This is the difference for me as a Christian. On my own, I am a fearful creature. It's in my nature to hide in shame or try to conceal my weaknesses by an air of strength based on my accomplishments. But I am capable of courage because of God's perfect love. 

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." -- 1 John 4:18

In reading 1 John 4 in context, it is through the Holy Spirit, which abides in believers because of the atoning work of Jesus Christ, that we receive God's perfect love. I have no fear because He is with me. 
 
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.” -- Joshua 1:9

Yes, I do have courage, but this is not of my own, it is the result of the power of God's love at work inside of me. Do you have the courage?